


i loved and i loved (and i lost you)

by ssilverarrowss



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Break Up, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssilverarrowss/pseuds/ssilverarrowss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks that maybe, maybe he should’ve told him he loves him more. Maybe he didn’t tell him enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i loved and i loved (and i lost you)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'Be Mine' by Robyn. Title from 'Hurts Like Hell' by Fleurie.

Something about today’s date makes Nico pause. He frowns, lines etched across his skin, remembering.

And he remembers, of course he does. Because that’s the thing about break-ups, really; they never let you forget. It’s been months, a stretch of long days making up almost a year of absence. 

Nico’s okay, mostly. Some days, the cold sheets still catch on his fingers, and a sadness seeps into the cartography of his body. It was a blow, the pain pulsating steadily, like a headache, and although it never really fades, Nico’s learned to live with it. 

It’s been months, but the memory of the burning anger in Lewis’s eyes still lingers behind Nico’s eyelids, hate spitting out of their mouths, a floodgate of bitterness that had become unavoidable. He remembers the words left unspoken, hanging in the air, the  _how can I love you if I hate you so much?_

*

When Lewis leaves, he walks away wearing the scarf Nico had given him for Christmas, and it’s like a kick to the teeth. 

Nico remembers Lewis’s lips curling into a smile, brown eyes soft as his fingers untied the red bow and peeled back the gold wrapping paper. 

“I love it, man.” He’d said, and Nico gently slipped the soft material around Lewis’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. 

“I love you.” He’d said, and sounded like he meant it.

*

They never said goodbye.

 _Maybe it’s better this way,_ Nico thinks. 

_At least you don’t get to see me cry._

*

It’s been a long time coming, Nico supposes. It was over before it was officially _over,_ the unanswered phone calls, Lewis’s prolonged absence that sometimes stretched on for days, even weeks on no end. When he _did_ come back, it was usually just to take his things, and their conversations more often than not ended in arguments and the slamming of doors. 

Gradually Lewis’s belongings started disappearing from the small apartment, removing himself from the life they shared until there was almost no tangible evidence he ever existed, except the framed photographs still adorning the shelves and dressers. 

Even the smell of Lewis’s skin began to fade from the bed they used to share, leaving Nico grasping at cold sheets where he expected to find the warmth of Lewis’s body. 

*

It’s funny, all their time apart.

It hadn’t felt like Nico was missing anything until he had someone to miss. 

It was easy to pretend, at first, when Lewis’s shirts were still hanging on the back of the chair, when his belongings littered the floor of their bedroom and his aftershave took up way too much space in the bathroom and Nico would instinctively turn around to chide him, only to be met with deafening silence. 

And stupidly, he kept believing that Lewis would come back, eventually, until the last of his things were gone.

Because — didn’t he always? Wasn’t that what they were all about? 

No matter how bad it got, they always forgave each other, in the end, always caved and sought out each other’s touch.

Not this time.

 _So this is what they talk about when they say ‛broken-hearted’,_ Nico remembers thinking.

*

Months pass, seasons change and Lewis moves on. 

Nico wonders if Sebastian makes him happy. If he succeeds where Nico failed, if he gives Lewis what Nico never could. 

Before, he used to speculate where Lewis spent his nights. Now he knows.

(It doesn’t make it any easier.)

*

The questions plague him at night, when he can’t sleep alone in a bed made for two, when he paces around the apartment as if it’s going to change anything, when he counts the stars on his balcony, knowing that no matter how far away Lewis may be, they’re sleeping under the same sky. He pretends it makes him feel less lonely.

Nico wonders if there’s anything he could’ve done differently. 

He thinks that maybe, maybe he should’ve told him he loves him more.

Maybe he didn’t tell him enough. 

Maybe, just maybe, it would’ve made him stay.

*

It’s not even the sex that he misses, not really.

He just misses being held, the steady beating of Lewis’s heart, the timbre of his voice, the warmth of his skin, the lips pressing kisses between his shoulder blades.

He just _misses._

*

In the end, it’s just a coincidence, because Nico doesn’t believe in fate. It’s a cold winter morning mid-December and Nico’s waiting for his train at Gare du Nord.

And it’s cruel, really, that even amongst the milling crowds Nico’s eyes fall on him. Even crueller still, because if it wasn’t for the scarf, Nico may not have noticed him at all. 

Lewis doesn’t see him, but that doesn’t stop Nico from watching him from the opposite side of the platform, and it’s a surreal moment, really, like time has slowed and faces blur and noises fade and all Nico can focus on, all he sees is  _him._

Lewis’s arm is slung around Sebastian’s shoulders, and he’s beaming at him, eyes soft and lips curved into a smile. He laughs at something Sebastian says, and the timbre of Lewis’s voice still resonates in Nico’s chest. 

The scarf that Nico had given Lewis for Christmas last year, that unmistakable beige-and-black patterned scarf, is wrapped around Sebastian’s neck, and he shivers, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He sits down on the edge of one of the benches, and Nico watches as Lewis bends down to tie his laces. They joke about something, and it strikes Nico just how  _happy_ he looks. 

There’s no bitterness or resentment in the observation, just the dull ache of loss. 

Lewis’s dark fingers brush against the snowy valley of Sebastian’s knuckles as he tilts his head up to meet Sebastian’s lips, pale from the cold, and Sebastian’s neck flushes pink in response. 

And Nico doesn’t have to imagine it, the softness and the warmth of Lewis’s lips, or the touch of his fingertips on the expanse of pale skin, or the devotion shining in deep brown eyes because he knows—

 _knew_ the taste of it all. 

The intercom crackles to life and the spell is broken, a tinny voice piercing through the chilly December air to announce the expected departure of a Eurostar train to London from Platform 4. 

Lewis rises to his feet, slowly, looking out across the horizon. 

There’s a beat, Nico’s heart pounding in his ears, and he looks up, meets a gaze. There’s a flicker of recognition in Lewis’s eyes as they settle on Nico’s face, and his expression is unfathomable. His lips part, as if in surprise, not expecting to see Nico again, and to see him _here_ , of all places. 

The surprise passes quickly, replaced by something else, something Nico can’t put his finger on. It’s not longing, not really, but maybe a distant echo of a past love. He wonders what Lewis is thinking, if he cares.

His eyes hold Lewis’s for a lingering moment.

Nico’s lips part, too, as if he wants to say something, maybe _do you think of me sometimes?_ , even though the distance between them is too great. It doesn’t matter anyway, because all the words die on Nico’s lips, like the explosion of a star, disappearing into dust. 

Sebastian grasps Lewis’s arm, twisting into the khaki of his jacket with a gentle urgency, and Lewis blinks, tearing his eyes away before Sebastian can follow his line of vision. And then he turns away, Sebastian’s fingers laced with his, and boards the train to London.

Nico breathes, inhaling the cold air, feeling it scrape past his throat. A beat, and there’s clarity in his thoughts. 

By the time he forms the words his heart’s been longing to say, the Eurostar to London is departing.

_I just miss you. That’s all._


End file.
